


4c: When in Rome

by gracefultree



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, because i had to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefultree/pseuds/gracefultree
Summary: After John prevents a mass casualty event on the airplane, he has a date with a flight attendant... then he finds Finch nearby.  Is Rome big enough for two strong-willed men like them?





	1. When in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this story in the wings for a while because I have at least three incomplete stories on this site already and I didn't want to torture you all when I know one of my weaknesses is actually *finishing* a story, but when I saw the news tonight and heard that a Canadian hacker was arrested because he was selling opioids on the internet on a site like, ahem, the *Black Market Bazaar*... well, I couldn't resist. Can you blame me?
> 
> (And, yes, as a crazy fan I also know about another online drug dealing website *Silk Road*, that was probably the basis for "4c," but, hey, a girl can make many associations when they all lead to slash, right?)

He and Harold were halfway to Harold’s atelier’s shop when John realized that he’d fallen back into the habit of assuming Harold would take care of him and that he was once again Harold’s man. He tried to summon up some anger at Harold, but it didn’t last. He’d let it out earlier, on the plane yesterday, and Harold’s words at the cafe had taken the rest. 

Yes… they had a great responsibility… and they had to get back to it. 

Harold paused at an intersection and gave him a quick, assessing look. 

“No, this won’t do at all,” he declared. “Mr. Reese, you’ll need a shave before we meet Gianni.” 

“Excuse me?” John asked, startled. Beyond assuring himself that John was dressed well and appropriately, Harold usually only cared about his appearance when they were infiltrating a number’s life or social function. Day-to-day appearance, such as John’s facial hair, had never been an issue before. 

Of course, he usually shaved, so this was a bit out of the ordinary… 

“Gianni is quite particular about whom he serves, and as attractive as your current appearance may be, I doubt he’d allow you inside his shop looking as scruffy as you do now.” 

John felt himself smiling. “You think I’m attractive, Harold?” he asked in the low teasing voice that seemed to offer the most chance of flustering Harold. 

“I’m not blind, Mr. Reese,” Harold replied with a bit of heat. “Nor was that flight attendant. Holly, was it?” 

“I slept with her,” John said before he could stop himself. 

“Yes, Mr. Reese,” Harold snapped, anger making his voice brittle. “I’m fully aware that in your lexicon ‘having a drink’ with someone is almost always a euphemism for having sex with them. With one notable exception, of course.” 

John blinked at the bitterness in Harold’s voice. They walked a few more steps in angry silence before John caught up to Harold’s point. “Are you saying _you_ want to sleep with me?” he asked inelegantly. Harold’s posture stiffened even more. “Wanted to then, I mean? I wouldn’t take advantage of someone like that, not when they’re vulnerable and —“ 

“You didn’t think I might have wanted someone to touch me with kindness after what she did to me?” Harold demanded. He waved a hand. “Never mind. You made your opinion on the matter extremely clear that day.” 

John froze. “But —“ 

“Enough. The moment’s passed and there’s no need to speak of it again. Your personal life or activities while not on assignment are none of my business or concern,” Harold barked. “Getting you an appointment with Gianni and not being turned away, however, is. Ah, this will do.” 

John obediently followed Harold into a barber shop, cowed by Harold’s response. How could he have missed this? He’d wanted Harold for a long time; why didn’t he know Harold wanted him in return? Or, at least wanted something in the days after Root kidnapped him? He’d just offered Harold a drink, damnit! Had Harold given any indication of wanting something else? 

_“Does it have to be beer?” Harold asked, giving John a hesitant smile as they continued across the street. John smiled back and took them to a nearby wine bar._

_Fuck,_ John cursed. That was probably as much of an opening as Harold would have been willing to give, and he missed it? 

Harold and the barber began speaking as soon as they got inside the shop, Harold taking on the role of John’s patron, and it sounded to John like they were debating something. He listened with half an ear as the barber got him settled in a chair. 

“What shall we do with your hair, Mr. Reese?” Harold asked in English, his bad mood seemingly gone in favor of making a good (or at least neutral) impression on the barber. “Marco wants to dye it, while I think I prefer the natural gray.” 

“I thought I was here for a shave,” John pointed out. 

“Why waste the opportunity?” Harold wondered as if it were obvious. He trailed his fingers through the silver at John’s temples. “Which would you prefer?” 

“Whatever makes me more attractive, naturally,” John answered, letting Harold see the smile in his eyes by way of an apology. 

“Naturally,” Harold repeated dryly, pulling away his hand. Clearly, the man was still upset, John concluded. “We’ll keep the gray,” Harold decided. “After all, didn’t I hear something about the salt and pepper look being catnip for soccer moms?” 

John willed himself to relax as Marco got to work. It had been a long time since he’d allowed a stranger to shave him with a straight razor, and he needed to psych himself up for it. He didn’t want to rip the guy’s arm off for having a blade at his throat when that was the whole point of the exercise. The haircut went fine, but as soon as Marco brought out the razor, John felt himself tensing. Harold moved into John’s line of sight and crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the counter, engaging Marco in conversation again. Seeing Harold relaxed him, and John closed his eyes to enjoy the heat of the towel warming his face. 

Harold kept up a lively chatter in perfectly fluent Italian for the entire shave, surprising John with his ability to do small-talk. He didn’t usually think that was Harold’s forte. 

There was a moment towards the end of the shave when John felt fingers that didn’t belong to Marco on his cheek. He opened his eyes to see Harold regarding him with a soft expression as he tested the closeness of the shave. He ran his fingers along John’s jaw, over his chin, and down his throat. John swallowed. 

“Excellent,” Harold said to Marco, his eyes flickering away from John’s as soon as he realized they were open. John felt the loss of his fingers intensely, even as he wondered that Harold had touched him _twice_ in such a short time-span. When they were fighting about John’s sex life. And his lack of understanding of Harold’s offer a year ago. Had Harold been upset about it ever since? He certainly hid it well… 

Of course, John himself had hidden his attraction to Harold, so fair was fair, right? 

Exiting the barber shop, John marveled aloud at how relaxed he felt. 

“There are herbs in the water in which they soak the towels,” Harold explained. “Marco’s great-great-grandfather’s recipe. It’s said to be good for the customer’s emotional state.” 

John wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he deflected. “Did you really come here to settle Owen?” he heard himself asking. “You could have done that from New York just as easily.” 

Harold considered his words before answering. “I hoped that there would be an opportunity for us to speak in person,” he murmured. “I didn’t enjoy how things ended with us, and I wanted a chance to make up for it.” 

“Make up, how?” 

“I consider you a dear friend, Mr. Reese. One of few, and the others are all dead. I want you to be aware that we don’t have to cut off all communication and contact because you don’t want to work for me any longer.” 

“Is that why you made sure I could use Wiley’s identity?” 

“You may use any of the aliases and identities I’ve created for you whether you work for me or not. They’re for _you._ ” 

“I don’t need his money.” 

“No, but the freedom of having it at your disposal should you need it must not be discounted.” They arrived in front of a tailor’s and Harold stopped. “Here we are,” he said indicating the door. 

“Harold —“ 

Harold turned back, waiting for John to continue. 

“Thanks for taking me back,” he said softly. 

“I will always ‘take you back,’ John. We might have different ways of looking at the world and responding to its less than savory elements, but in the end, we both want to make people’s lives better and safer. You don’t have to be the ‘Man in the Suit’ for that.” 

“But you’ll buy me a suit anyway?” John asked, feeling the need for reassurance. 

“As many as you want,” Harold answered with a stilted smile. 

“I’ll get a new tux while I’m at it, then. I’ll probably need one at some point soon,” John decided, just to see Harold continue smiling. He did so love dressing John up. “I’m sorry about earlier,” he started. 

“Enough said on the topic. It was long ago,” Harold answered. “Let’s concentrate on the matter at hand.” 

. 

. 

. 

John let the Italian wash over him as Harold and Gianni discussed fabrics and cuts and colors. For the first time since Joss died, he felt able to relax, and he thought the reason had more to do with Harold’s presence than any kind of peace he’d been able to find on his own. 

And the shave by Marco hadn’t hurt, either, not with Harold making sure that he was always in eyesight or hearing distance. 

The Machine wanted him working with Harold, that much was clear. As angry as he’d been at Harold when he’d discovered that he was on a plane with a relevant number, he’d believed Harold when he’d said he hadn’t done it. Harold was many things, even a liar, but he’d never lied to John. Not directly, anyway. Withholding information, deflecting, distracting, those were his tools of the trade. That John used them just as much seemed only fair. 

But now… now Harold had come across the Atlantic to talk to him, to apologize, to bring him home. And he found himself wanting to return with Harold. 

He wanted a lot of things from Harold. Not all of them proper. 

Of course, finding out that Harold had once wanted those very same things didn’t help any, not when Harold had declared the topic of the past and closed. Would he ever be able to make up for that missed opportunity? He hoped so. Part of him wondered if he could use their sojourn in Italy as a stepping stone, now that they were on the same page and that they were both aware of the mutual desire between them. 

Gianni, currently on his knees doing something with his pant-leg, asked Harold a question. 

Harold, ensconced in a comfortable wing-back chair sipping espresso, every inch the indulgent patron out buying his protege an expensive treat, responded as if the question offended him. John translated it as: _I’m not asking him that!_

Gianni looked up to gauge John’s reaction, but John had his game face on and wouldn’t let on that he understood most of what they were saying, though Harold probably remembered from his file that he spoke half-decent Italian. He shrugged slightly and got a prick in the shoulder from one of the pins. Gianni asked Harold the question again, but Harold grumbled something and set his cup down, refusing to answer. His cheeks had a strange, pink tinge to them John had rarely seen on his boss. 

Now he knew what it meant, at least. 

“If all he wants is for me to adjust my dick to check the line of the trousers, you could just say so, Harold,” John said in one of his flirtatious voices. “ _You’ve_ asked it of me before…” he couldn’t help adding, thinking of Harold’s fingers on his jaw earlier. 

“There’s no need to be vulgar, Mr. Reese,” Harold snapped. He got to his feet and stormed to the front of the store. The bell on the front door rang, then John was left in silence with Gianni. 

“Ah, you are not yet lovers, then, no?” Gianni asked in flawless, if accented, English. 

“What makes you say something like that?” John asked, curious. He’d entertained the idea, at night, when he was alone in his loft, wondering what Harold would be like in bed, but lovers? He didn’t think either of them was in the market for a lover. Harold had Grace, and John — John had Zoe occasionally, and the memory of Jessica, and a few casual encounters when he needed an itch scratched. 

“Signor Harold has sent me much business over the years,” Gianni answered. “But you are only the second man he has brought personally. The way he talks about you, there is a yearning.” John stood still as Gianni got to his feet, brushed off his knees, and began divesting John of the pinned-up jacket. “Signor Nathan was, sadly, not an appropriate love-match for Signor Harold.” 

“Oh?” John couldn’t keep the curiosity from his voice. 

“He was not as — flexible — as Signor Harold.” 

“Ah. I’ve wondered if there was anything more than friends there,” John admitted. 

“He was a good friend to Signor Harold, a good man, but…” Gianni paused and motioned for John to take off the trousers. John obliged. 

. 

. 

.


	2. Doing Something Risky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gianni thinks John and Harold would make a good love-match...

As he expected, John found Harold at the exhibit he’d mentioned earlier. He stepped up beside him as he gazed at a painting with an expression of sadness on his face. John wondered if it was because of Grace or because of himself. 

“I apologize for my rudeness earlier,” Harold murmured. “I fear I may have offended you.” 

John hid his smile behind his hand. “No harm, no foul,” he replied, keeping his voice level so as not to give away anything. They stood in silence for a few minutes, walking from painting to painting. After the third painting, Harold started telling John about them, giving details of the artist’s history and the thoughts behind each painting. 

“I knew you liked books, but I didn’t realize you were so into art,” John commented. 

“I deceive myself that knowing so much about the subject allows me to retain a certain closeness with Grace that cannot in reality exist,” Harold said. 

“You did what you thought was necessary to protect her,” John said. 

“And yet she has been unable to move on from my death,” Harold replied. “She still believes I’m alive.” 

“You are,” John countered. “Sort of.” 

“Is this life, John? What we do?” 

“It’s a better life than I had before,” John answered. “Even losing Joss… it hurts, but it means I’m alive. I was able to form a connection with her.” 

“I wonder sometimes if we’ll live long enough to stop missing those we’ve lost,” Harold whispered, turning away from the painting. John followed him outside and leaned against a railing overlooking a piazza with him. 

“Joss isn’t the only person I’ve connected with,” John said. 

“I know.” 

“Do you know why I kissed her?” Harold looked over at him in surprise, but didn’t answer, so John continued. “I didn’t think both of us would make it out of there.” 

“You made it out only to lose her a few hours later,” Harold said. 

“She saved me that day, but without you —“ 

“Please, John, don’t thank me again. I don’t want to remember the last time you did it,” Harold interrupted. 

“Kissing her was easy. It wasn’t much of a risk. If it hadn’t worked out, we’d have still been friends. Just like Zoe isn’t a risk. We both know what we expect, what we’re looking to get. Like with Holly.” 

Harold pursed his lips into a tight line. 

“I’m about to do something extremely risky,” John declared softly. Harold turned his whole body to be able to meet John’s eyes. John stepped forward, into Harold’s personal space. He raised a hand and cupped the back of Harold’s neck. “Now’s the time to tell me to stop,” he whispered. 

Harold remained silent as John bent to kiss him. The kiss deepened as Harold responded. He put an arm around John’s waist and let the other hand grip his upper arm. He opened his mouth for deeper kisses, letting John explore for a moment before turning the tables and exploring John in his turn. 

“Mr. Reese, this is an insanely bad idea,” Harold said when they parted. “I’m your _employer_.” 

“I’m off the clock until I’m back in New York,” John answered calmly, elated that Harold hadn’t pushed him away or said no. “Maybe we need a little vacation. A whirlwind affair under the Italian sun?” 

Harold stared at him as if he’d grown a second head. 

“Not interested?” John finally asked, feeling the disappointment seeping into his demeanor. He moved to step back, but Harold’s hands tightened on his clothing. 

“Interest is not the issue,” Harold blurted. “But the ethical concerns alone —“ 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time, Harold, not to mention do other things,” John interrupted. “It’s not something new. It’s not because of Joss, or the job, or anything like that. I just didn’t realize you were interested, too.” 

“I practically propositioned you!” 

“And I was too dumb to see it. I wasn’t thinking of sex then, I was thinking of making you feel safe, helping you get over the PTSD of what Root did to you.” 

Harold looked away, his lips pressed together thinly. “I suppose I could have been more explicit on the matter. Without vulgarity, of course.” 

“You thought I’d get it. I probably should’ve, but I didn’t.” John pulled Harold into a fuller embrace, their whole bodies pressed together. “Please, Harold, let me make it up to you. Let me buy you a drink and take you to bed and —“ 

“John, I care far too deeply about you to consider something as banal as weekend tryst the embodiment of my desire.” Harold shrugged out of the embrace and turned away. “I would wish for a continuation of our partnership, you see. Or, rather, an addition to it.” He paused. “I wouldn’t even consider this option if you weren’t coming back to New York.” 

“You want to read me in as a _romantic_ partner? What about Grace?” 

“I foresee no possible scenarios where Grace and I are able to reconnect romantically, or in any way other than watching her from afar.” 

“You’ve given up on a future with her,” John said. 

Harold nodded silently. He began walking. John matched his pace as he always did. 

. 

. 

. 

They ended up at a boutique hotel outside the city, surrounded by trees. John stood on the balcony and watched the sunset, his arm draped over Harold’s shoulders. They’d gone back to safe topics during their walk and dinner, but John wasn’t blind to the mounting sexual tension between them. Nor was Harold. He’d taken off his tie as soon as they got to the room, left his jacket on a hanger in the closet, opened his vest, and rolled up his sleeves. 

“Perhaps I should mention that my experience with men is rather limited,” Harold said softly into the twilight. “I haven’t gone as far as intercourse.” 

“So we’ll take it slow,” John replied. “I’m fine with just about everything.” 

“Your limits?” 

“Physical restraints, blood, blindfolds,” John replied. “I can do some role-play but not all.” 

Harold chuckled. 

“Something funny?” John asked, feeling exposed. 

“No, I was just thinking that all of those things are rather advanced for what I envisioned as our possible first time,” Harold answered. “I was expecting something along the lines of ‘don’t touch me in this place’ or ‘I dislike this position.’” 

John let himself relax again. Too many assumptions. He’d thought Harold would be more — well, they said to watch out for the quiet ones, and he’d categorized Harold as quiet, therefore probably into all sorts of kinky things he wouldn’t expect, but… He needed more information. 

“What do you envision?” 

“To be honest, I thought we’d just make out and sleep next to each other,” Harold admitted. “Perhaps lie naked together and touch each other. At least at first. My fantasies have always been on the tame or vanilla end of the spectrum.” 

“We can do that,” John said. “It’s more intimate than I usually get with partners.” 

“Sleeping next to each other, you mean?” 

“Yeah.” John paused. “But I’d do it with you. I want to do it with you,” he added, realizing the truth as he spoke it. 

Harold leaned more of his weight against John. “Is there something you enjoy particularly much?” 

“Rimming,” John answered without hesitation. “I’ve only done it a few times, but I know I like it. Both ways,” he added. 

Harold felt a rush of heat through his body, making him dizzy, a tingling settling in his groin. “Oh, that would be lovely,” he murmured. He led the way into the room and over to the bed. “Come kiss me.” 

Despite his limited experience, Harold was an excellent kisser, John was pleased to note. Not that kissing men was particularly different than kissing women, but, still… It didn’t take long for him to be hard and ready for more friction. Harold agreed readily, cupping John through his jeans and massaging his erection. 

“Would you mind coming in your pants for me?” Harold asked, breathing wetly and warmly on John’s ear. John’s dick twitched aggressively at the thought. 

“I haven’t done that since I was a teenager,” John protested, lying back and pulling Harold on top of him. He wanted the weight of Harold’s body pressing him down. “And if you think I’ll let that happen now, you’re in for disappointment.” 

“We’ll see,” Harold replied. “Someday I’ll make it happen,” he declared with certainty. 

John gave a bark of laughter and kissed Harold deeply. “I’ll be waiting,” he purred when he moved to kiss along Harold’s jaw. 

Harold chuckled and poked his tongue into John’s ear, swirling and sucking. John groaned out a curse. Without looking or fumbling, Harold had his belt unbuckled and his fly open. He slipped his hand inside, though he didn’t immediately touch skin. 

“Perhaps I like the idea of driving you beyond your considerable ability to control your body?” Harold mused. He started kissing John’s throat. “Tell me about it. That time when it happened.” 

John groaned as Harold let go of his erection and started on John’s shirt. “Sally Pritchett was feeling me up in the back row during school assembly. The topic was saying ‘no’ to sex, drugs and rock and roll, of course.” 

“Of course.” 

“I was fifteen, she was seventeen. We’d been necking after school, and she’d let me touch her breasts, but that was the first time she touched me like that.” He huffed out an amused laugh at his younger self. “I was humiliated.” 

“You were young, overexcited,” Harold murmured, bending to kiss John’s stomach while he tugged at his jeans. John lifted his hips to help him. “What happened after that?” 

“She dumped me, slept with Ronnie Mendelson and ended up pregnant within a few months. Dropped out of school. I went home and taught myself how to last so that when Anna Baxter and I started dating that summer, I could —“ 

“Ah, I see your point,” Harold interrupted. He moved so that he could pull John’s boots off, then his pants and underwear. “I was nineteen and already in college when I discovered girls,” he offered. “There weren’t many to choose from back home, and I’d grown up with them anyway and already knew they wouldn’t be intelligent enough to hold my interest. Radcliffe girls, though…” He trailed off, staring into space for a moment, stroking John’s thighs. He blinked a few times and shook off the daze. 

“But now I have you,” Harold continued, sitting back on his heels and looking down at John now that he was completely naked. He admired the strength in his frame, the well-formed muscles, the way his dick stood at attention, even with the cool night breeze blowing in from the balcony. 

“Like what you see?” John asked, reaching for him. 

Harold shrank back slightly, not wanting to be touched again yet. “Indeed,” he answered. “Stay like this for a moment.” 

John nodded in acknowledgment and relaxed onto the pillow, reminding himself to go at Harold’s pace. Harold began stripping. Slow and deliberate, Harold removed his clothing carefully. He set aside each piece and returned to bed in nothing but bright orange boxers that matched the paisley of his tie. 

John couldn’t keep in the laughter. Harold looked at him sideways, then followed his gaze from the tie on the other side of the room to his tented boxers. 

“Oh. Yes. I, ahem, I like to match my accessories,” he explained in a low, embarrassed voice. 

John sat up to enfold him in a hug. He kissed the side of Harold’s head. “I think it’s adorable,” he whispered. 

“I wonder if I should take offense at that term,” Harold grumbled playfully, but he was smiling again, and his hands were moving along John’s shoulders, pulling him close. They started kissing. 

“I like this making out thing,” John decided a while later. 

“Good,” Harold replied with a sigh of pleasure. 

Harold’s chest hair was more gray than brown, but John didn’t care. He dove in and started kissing Harold’s nipples and sternum and ribs. Harold responded eagerly, squirming and kissing John’s ear again and moving John’s hands to his ass. 

. 

. 

. 

“I hate to interrupt this mildly erotic moment, but—“ Shaw broke off, staring. “Okay. I _really_ didn’t need to see that!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be in the car. Hurry up!” she added over her shoulder. 

Harold smiled as he leaned forward to kiss John one last time before they left for the gala, handily zipping his fly for him. “What do you think she’s protesting?” Harold wondered as they rode the elevator down. 

“It couldn’t have been your hand down my pants,” John replied with a wink, overly amused at the scenario. 

“Doesn’t appreciate good tailoring,” Harold murmured. “One needs to make adjustments.” 

“I’m surprised you’re not more — uh, upset.” 

“I’m not a prude, Mr. Reese,” Harold retorted. “Besides, if we handle it as if it’s a non-issue, she’ll follow our lead.” 

“She’ll tease us, try to rile us up.” 

“And you’ll tease her back while I squawk indignantly pretending to more embarrassment than I feel and that’ll be the end of it.” 

“I’m just surprised,” John said again. 

Harold sighed and took his hand. “I’m not embarrassed to be with you,” he said sincerely. “Granted, I wish she hadn’t found out the way she did, but she would’ve figured it out sooner rather than later. At least this way it’s honest.” 

“So I’m not just your plus-one for numbers?” 

Harold heard the insecurity in John’s voice and turned to face him, catching and holding his eyes. Three days and John was doubting, most likely because they hadn’t had intercourse yet. He had to do something about the doubt, though he wasn’t ready for more than they’d done. “I told you on the piazza, John. I want us to be partners in everything. We’re not doing it for the numbers. You’ll always be my plus-one!” He ended so firmly that John jerked back briefly. 

“You’re sure? You’d want —“ 

“You’re my _partner_ , John. That’s all that needs to be said.” 

John nodded, ducking his head. 

“For God’s sake! Quit with the lovey-dovey bullshit already!” Shaw exclaimed, her voice loud in their ears. “Go be girls on your own time. We’ve got places to be.” 

John rolled his eyes. “We’ll have to get better at turning these things off,” he muttered, muting his earwig. 

. 

. 

. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished a story! Yay!


End file.
